The Girl at Starbucks That Hates You:
My female boss keeps telling me I need to smile more. I'm sorry, but I smile when I am authentically happy. Taking an order for a Caramel Frappucino No Whip from someone who can't remove their iPhone from their ear does not make me authentically happy. Sorry.
When I do smile then the men all think that means I must want to fuck them: dudes, don't make the Barista Fantasy so obvious on your faces, it's sad. Like I'm going to take you to the bathroom RIGHT NOW and have you bang me over the sink with my pants at my ankles: I CLEAN that restroom, and I assure you the things I have seen do NOT make it a sexy place for me.
Then there are the older men who smile at me because I must make them think of their daughter: I will smile at them even if I'm not feeling it, just because, you know?
Then the next guy with the faux hipster style smiles at me, expecting me to smile at him, too. Dude, I HATE hipsters, and you're not even a real hipster: real hipsters would never be caught dead in a Starbucks because: corporate.
So excuse me if I don't smile at you: it's nothing personal, because there is nothing personal between us: you are a customer, and I'm just trying to pat my share of the rent.
Yeah, yeah: No Whip.
I am Laslo.